


Soulmate Stuff

by weirdmilk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, but er this is written by someone who's not interested in soulmates, lol, so it's not a big part of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdmilk/pseuds/weirdmilk
Summary: Akaashi has never been interested in the hideous concept of soulmates, which is why it’s so easy to politely sidestep the gibbering wreck in front of him gesticulating wildly at the counter on his arm. Akaashi can’t see it - no one can see them, apart from the owners - but he’s been party to enough first meetings to know what that motion means. There’s no timer on his own arm, and it's never bothered him in the slightest. He’d kind of just hoped the universe had just exempted him from the whole business. Maybe it had written him a cosmic note.Please excuse Akaashi from the soulmate stuff; he wants to choose his own.He should have known better than to trust the universe, even for a second.Soulmate AU for a prompt: Older partner has a timer that appears on their arm at some set point before they meet their soulmate. Younger partner has no warning. Only 1 meeting is guaranteed.





	Soulmate Stuff

Akaashi has never been interested in the hideous concept of soulmates. This lack of interest is why it’s so easy to politely sidestep the gibbering wreck in front of him gesticulating wildly at the counter on his arm. Akaashi can’t see it - no one can see them, apart from the owners - but he’s been party to enough first meetings to know what that motion means. There’s no timer on his own arm, and he’d kind of hoped the universe had just exempted him from the whole business. Maybe it had written him a cosmic note:  _Please excuse Akaashi from the soulmate stuff; he wants to choose his own partner_. He should have known better than to trust the universe, even for a second.

‘It’s - it’s you!’ the boy shouts again, and as he gets closer, Akaashi realises that his bizarre, gravity-defying hair hadn’t been a trick of the light - it really _does_ look like that. His uniform is sloppy, too, and one of his laces has come untied. In short, he’s a mess, although that fact makes no difference to him, really. His supposed soulmate could be anyone, and it wouldn’t matter: Akaashi just isn’t interested. However, he can’t help thinking to himself that there must have been some kind of universal bureaucratic error in marking that strange, yellow-eyed boy as his soulmate. Well. Akaashi squints at him a little more discerningly. Golden, he supposes. His eyes are more of a - golden, than a yellow. Akaashi’s unshakable indifference is beginning to feel somewhat shaken.

‘It’s - not me,’ Akaashi says. The boy continues to gaze lovingly at him, like a puppy, as though Akaashi hadn't spoken at all. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Bokuto Koutarou,’ the boy - Bokuto Koutarou - tells him. ‘You’re Akaashi. I read your form from upside down. I have a lot of talents.’

‘That certainly is a talent,’ Akaashi allows. Bokuto’s chest puffs up in pride. Akaashi fights a small smile. He covers his mouth with his hand. 

‘Not you, though?’ Bokuto is still gazing at him with no sign of sadness. He had heard him, then. ‘There someone behind you? I’m pretty sure it’s you.’

‘I -’ Akaashi swallows. ‘No. I don’t - believe in soulmates. I want to choose my own partner. It’s my life.’

Bokuto nods wisely. ‘People have different beliefs,’ he says. ‘I believed that olives were pickled grapes. But that was wrong of me.’

‘I’m not wrong,’ Akaashi says sharply. ‘It’s my life. I’m not wrong. It's my choice.’

Bokuto shrugs at him, grinning, and unaffected by the new sharpness in Akaashi’s voice. ‘You’ll have to fall in love with me on your own terms, then.’

‘I don’t _have_ to do anything. Bokuto-san.’

‘But you might do it anyway,’ Bokuto says, and grins again. Those strange eyes flash, bright and birdlike. Akaashi isn’t interested in them, even so.

‘I’m just here to join the volleyball club,’ Akaashi says faintly, and he darts forward to leave his form on the table, before backing away, his hands up in surrender. As he steps away from the table, he remembers where he is: he becomes newly aware of the crowds of high school students chatting and laughing, and inevitably, watching the soulmate drama unfold. He feels a light blush spread itself across his cheeks, like strawberry jam. 

He doesn't speak to anyone as he passes through the faceless crowd. The last thing he hears before he reaches relative peace and quiet is someone saying, ‘Yeah, good luck with that one, Bokuto,’ and a different voice laughing, long and happy.

The laughter sounds remarkably owlish, as it fades from within earshot.   
  


* * *

 

Regrettably, Akaashi gets to know Bokuto. It’s inevitable, really, considering how much time they spend together in the club room, the gym, the bus. Neither of them has mentioned the s-word since that first meeting, but sometimes there’s a lull in conversation and Bokuto’s eyes melt around the edges, going distant and hazy. But then, as quickly as they'd softened, they will sharpen again, and he’ll laugh, and say something stupid, and Akaashi will relax - a little. A little, but never fully, because to relax around Bokuto is to invite the devil to dance, and they’ll end up in another avoidable catastrophe. Akaashi will never forget the time he’d had to coax Bokuto down from a tree that he’d seen on the way home and immediately _had to climb, Akaashi - look at the colour of those leaves!_ And Akaashi had waited at the bottom, weary but with a secret and traitorous affection creeping up his spine, but that affection had dissolved as soon as Bokuto had remembered his crippling fear of heights. Akaashi’s coaxing and cajoling had turned into straightforward bribery, in the end, but luckily Bokuto is easy to buy. New kneepads and some yakiniku. Cheap, too.

Sometimes, Akaashi wonders whether Bokuto even remembers the fact that they’re supposedly tied together by that red string. It’s not as though he can remember anything else, ever. But those out of sync, in-between moments are frequent enough that Akaashi knows - he just knows, somehow - that Bokuto remembers. Akaashi is surprised by his level of tact, in not bringing it up again: Bokuto, he has discovered, is erratic and undiplomatic. There’s nothing to suggest any level of self-awareness. So it’s interesting - just _objectively_ so, Akaashi tells himself, firmly - that he would manage to keep so quiet about something that had excited him so much, that day they’d met.

He supposes, if he’s really honest with himself, that there’s a lot that’s interesting about Bokuto. Objectively, of course. He’s a great spiker, even accounting for his fits of spike-blocking-induced despair. The rest of the team loves him: they treat him as an unofficial mascot - as the spirit of the team. He’s friendly and speaks to others with an ease that Akaashi quite frankly envies: he, himself, has always been a little cold, a little difficult to know. Bokuto radiates a warmth and a genuine interest in other people, without even trying. Maybe it's the lack of trying that makes it possible at all. When the two of them walk down corridors together, Akaashi is still mildly surprised at just how many people Bokuto seems to know. Girls, boys, teachers. The vice-principal had, on one memorable occasional, high-fived him.

Bokuto is made captain, at the end of his second year. Bokuto makes him his vice. Akaashi knows that it’s a sensible decision: Bokuto is good with motivating, with teaching, but he’s terrible at the planning and the paperwork. Bokuto will sail the boat, but Akaashi will steady its sides. It makes sense: it’s just the right thing to do. Akaashi knows that, so he’s angry with himself for the little firefly inside his chest that lights up at the implicit admiration of his abilities, his worth.

‘Vice before your second year,’ Washio says to him, at the end of the first practice under the new leadership. ‘Bokuto must really trust you.’

‘Hmm,’ Akaashi says, non-committal, but he can feel a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he turns away, so Washio won't see the curve of his lips. He hears Washio snort, but ignores it. Childish, he thinks to himself. He watches Bokuto drink some water, throat moving as he does so, and turns away from that too, heading for the shadows of the club room. Bokuto’s throat, in his mind, burns like an afterimage of the sun. Stupid, he thinks faintly, stupid, stupid. But the floral feeling in his chest blooms bright and sweet anyway, as he sits on the bench, head leaning against the wall. 

They win their next practice match. The team crowds Bokuto, calling him their ace, their captain, their great horned owl. Akaashi hangs back a little, although he could say all those things too, and he thinks he'd mean them the most out of anyone. Bokuto’s eyes meet his own, and they seem to burn even brighter in that moment. Akaashi’s breath stops, quivers in his mouth. But Bokuto just smiles and lets his eyes slide back to the clamoring throng around him. Akaashi takes an unnecessarily long drink, for something to do. He stares unseeingly towards the corner of the gym, keeping his eyes trained firmly away from Bokuto's burning brightness. 

On the way back, Bokuto falls asleep as soon as the bus pulls away. He snores; his mouth is open. Akaashi, next to him, is filled with a sense of unsureness. He scratches at his chest, but the itch doesn’t go away; it’s deeper inside him, like a splinter. He closes his eyes, but immediately opens them, because without any visual input he’s got nothing to distract him from the whirlpool of his thoughts.

He pulls at Bokuto’s sleeve, gently, but Bokuto keeps snoring with gusto, so Akaashi pokes him in the ribs, hard. Bokuto jerks awake, making a startled noise, and stares at Akaashi with an expression of the utmost betrayal.

‘Bokuto-san,’ Akaashi says, feeling an unaccountable sense of urgency. ‘You like me, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, yeah!’ Bokuto enthuses, through a deep, chasmic yawn, ‘you’re a really great setter. I like you a lot.’

‘No!’ Akaashi hisses, before swallowing and glancing around to check that all his teammates are occupied. ‘You _like_ me like me. Don’t you?’

Bokuto tilts his head in good-natured confusion.

‘How do you feel about me?’ Akaashi tries a new tack.

‘How do I -’ Bokuto echoes, but breaks off, frowning. ‘I like you a lot, Akaashi! You’re smart and cool. You laugh at things with your eyes. I like that. You always look so neat. Sometimes you fix my collar, even if you say "It will be sticking up again in ten minutes." You - do things with me even though you say no, when I ask you at first, but then you say things like “You’re going to get yourself killed, Bokuto-san, so I’d better come as well”.’ Bokuto performs Akaashi's lines in a flat monotone. 

‘I don’t sound like that,’ Akaashi mumbles. He can feel the smile, though. He turns to look out of the window.

‘Yes, yes, exactly like that!’

‘So - how would you feel about kissing?’ Akaashi figures that he’s taken it this far; he might as well push it over the cliff.

‘Who’d I be kissing?’ Bokuto looks pensive.

‘Me.’ Akaashi looks down at his shoes. He feels a little light-headed.

Bokuto narrows his eyes. ‘I’d feel good about that.’ He frowns. ‘Is this a trick?’

‘What? Why would it be a trick?’

‘You were so sad about the soulmate thing!’ Bokuto says cheerfully. Akaashi’s stomach drops. It’s the first time either of them have brought it up since their first meeting. ‘You saw me and just went, “no,” so I figured you just didn’t like me like that - or that you didn’t like anybody like that. Which is fine! I said - at the time, didn’t I? People have their beliefs. But you didn’t like me then. You might like me now. Or you might like me later. I don’t think it all rests on one moment, you know? Like the meeting. I think it matters what you choose.’

‘What I choose,’ Akaashi says faintly. ‘Tell me more, Bokuto-san.’

Bokuto looks surprised. Akaashi supposes this is fair. Akaashi has never asked him to speak more - rather, he's told him to shut up, on multiple occasions. Maybe that had been an error, all along. Maybe there had been some secret wisdom underneath all the prattling, after all. ‘I - would never push you,’ Bokuto says, quiet and hesitant, ‘but I think - the soulmate thing - I never really believed it either, because you can't marry a volleyball, can you?' There's a distinct cackle from in front of them, somewhere. 'But - then - I saw you, and it made sense. But I trust you! Akaashi, I trust you! I believe we’ll end up together! Not because the universe says we're soulmates - who cares about what other people think? But because I want to be with you! And I really hope - that you’ll - want that too, in the end.’ Bokuto grins at him.

The bus has gone suspiciously quiet. Akaashi chances a sweeping glare at the seats around him. Everyone studiously avoids his eyes. Akaashi feels hot. He clutches his bag to his chest, for safety. It’s too late, though; he's left safety far behind. He's in uncharted territories, and here be monsters, and the monsters all have those damn golden eyes. 

‘I want it,’ Akaashi mutters.

The volume level in the bus falls from quiet to silent. Washio clutches at his chest. Sarukui clutches at Onaga’s chest.

Bokuto blinks. He kneels up on his seat and turns backwards towards Washio, who salutes in confirmation. ‘Did that - ?’ He directs his question to the bus at large. They’re all nodding at him in unison.

‘Bizarrely,’ Sarukui says, sounding a little choked up, ‘it actually did.’

Bokuto sits back down on his seat, the curiosity on his face making him look younger. His hand is slightly raised, but still, as though he’d forgotten why he’d lifted it.

‘You want it,’ he says, slowly.  
  
‘Sorry,’ Akaashi says, awkward. He holds the bag tighter on his lap. ‘If it’s too late, then -’

‘What part of what he just said made it sound like it would be too late?’ It’s a yell from the back of the bus. Konoha, Akaashi thinks, darkly. There are murmurs of agreement. Akaashi feels himself going scarlet. He buries his face in his hands. This is - so undignified, he thinks, helplessly.

‘It’s not too late.’ Bokuto ignores the noise around them, and looks straight at Akaashi, as though he’s the only thing that matters. ‘I want to be with you. And if you want that too, that’s... ‘ He trails off. ‘Neat,’ he finishes.

‘Neat,’ Washio mutters from behind them, and snorts.

‘Shut up, Washio-san,’ Akaashi says, serenely. He hears Washio bravely trying to stifle his laughter, with very limited success. 

He leans forward, which makes the seat belt complain and press uncomfortably into his hips, but he barely notices. He feels full of an unfamiliar lightness of being - something huge and joyful. It's making him uncharacteristically daring. ‘You all want to see something? Watch this.’ He pulls Bokuto’s face towards his own, and kisses him firmly. He’s never done it before, and Bokuto manages to bite his tongue, somehow, but when he pulls back they’re both bright pink and Akaashi finds himself smiling and smiling and smiling, and this time, even with the hoots and hollers of the team enveloping him, he doesn’t turn away.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ [weirdmilk](http://www.weirdmilk.tumblr.com); come shout at me about iwaoi


End file.
